


together (we can make something beautiful)

by courageous_boss



Series: you've always loved the strange birds [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, I just don't want to clutter the tags, Jason Tim and Alfred also appear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 05:10:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17553989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courageous_boss/pseuds/courageous_boss
Summary: Dick has a revelation and Damian learns the meaning of Robin's colors.





	1. one

Whenever Dick imagines Damian suiting up and leaving the Cave as Batman, panic seizes at his chest. Sometimes, he stops breathing for a few seconds too many and his head hurts. Sometimes, the minutes pass in seconds and he stops being aware of what’s going on around him. So, he avoids thinking about it. Avoids imagining Bruce putting on his costume and walking out, never realizing that it would be his last time. Avoids the nagging feeling in his chest that Damian’s going to face the same fate.

“Kal-El?” Dick chirps. He’s draped over Clark’s back, arms hooked in front of the man’s neck to keep himself secure. Clark is focused on a draft of some article he’s been working on for the past hour and Dick is bored. Or anxious. These days, the two feelings get mixed up a lot.

Clark just hums in acknowledgment, one hand reaching up to squeeze softly at Dick’s, the other steadfastly typing away.

“Do you still miss Bruce?”

Clark stops typing and even through the tough muscle, Dick feels his breath hitch. He’d been told the story now. Of Bruce’s mission to save the world with the Justice League and Clark being too slow to save him from being vaporized by Darkseid. Dick is much more competent at understanding human emotions than Bruce – and even Alfred sometimes – had been, so he’d anticipated that Clark would feel some guilt over the affair.

Dick doesn’t think that it’s Clark’s fault, though. Because it had been _Bruce_ who’d gone off without a Robin – or even a Nightwing – and it had been _Bruce_ who’d refused any help, and in the end, it had been _Bruce’s_ decision to sacrifice himself for the sake of the mission.

It's just what Bruce did; sacrificed everything for the sake of the mission. Even in it meant Damian didn’t have a father anymore and Clark couldn’t forgive himself.

Clark stutters over his answer for a bit, Dick clutching comfortingly and patiently at his shoulder, before he says, “Yes, I do, kiddo. All the time.”

Dick presses his chin against Clark’s warm skin, snuggling in as close as he can to the large man. “Damian does too. Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure, anything. You know that,” Clark says. He’s stopped typing, but his eyes still refuse to leave the computer screen.

“Damian cries a lot. Every night. I go into his room and hold his hand, but I don’t think it helps. He’s missing Bruce, I think.”

Clark swallows, shoulders rising with the effort. “And what about you, Dick? Do you miss Bruce?”

Dick doesn’t know how to tell Clark that he has no time to miss Bruce. Because in his mind, it’s barely been a month since the wire had snapped and his parents had been ripped from him. Even though he knows that Zucco has long been hunted down, the itch under his skin to find the man and make him pay never goes away. How can he tell Clark that he misses his mother’s honeybuns and his father’s leather gloves, when it’d been almost two decades since they’d died? It’s not fair, having to grieve his mother and his father. It’s worse to know that the one person who he’d thought might grow to love him as family again was gone too.

So, Dick lies, “A bit, but not as much as Damian,” even as the pain and hurt slices ugly marks inside his chest. Because there’s nothing Clark can do to fix what’s wrong with him. But maybe, they can help Damian.

Clark has long learned how to read heartbeats and Dick’s had been one of the first he’d memorized. He knows, just by the quickening of Dick’s heart, that he’s lying. He doesn’t call him out on it though. He wishes he could say it was more for Dick’s sake than his, but it isn’t.

He can be fun Uncle Clark again – as many times as they need him to be – and have sleepovers and build pillow forts and tells long, intricate bedtime stores. What he can't do is watch this young Dick struggle with his place in the Wayne family. Because it was Dick who’d made them a family in the first place and if nothing else, he’d always belong with them.

“Here what, I have an idea,” Clark offers up instead, “How about we surprise Damian when he comes home? You can do something special. Just you and him – to take his mind off things.”

This, this is something Clark can do. He can listen to Dick’s increasingly excited ramblings of movie nights and Disney marathons and extra-buttered popcorn. He can humour Dick’s unfailing _need_ to nurture those around him. He leaves his article unfinished and helps Dick turn the Manor’s mini-theatre into a cozy den. They fill it with blankets and pillows and dim the lights. Alfred’s on monitor duty in the Cave and he’s not to be disturbed, so there’s no one to stop them from adding way too much butter to one batch of popcorn, and then way too much caramel to the other. Secretly, Clark makes a plain batch because despite the shining grin Dick is wearing now, he doubts that his stomach will agree that his concoctions were tasty.

They cue up some of Dick’s favourites and Clark doesn’t mention when Dick skips past Dumbo – which is clearly too raw on his emotions – and Lilo and Stich – a movie he’d watched on repeat with Bruce. Bambi doesn’t make the cut, but Mulan is placed right at the front. Clark’s heart grows warm and fond over this young, Dick Grayson and his caring nature. If he concentrates hard enough, it’s easy to pretend it was still the 90s, and Bruce would be joining them in a few seconds, and Diana was only a phone call away.

 

* * *

 

Dick insists on waiting in the Cave when the hours draw closer to their agreed return time, settling in on one of the cots and pulling Clark to sit beside him. He’s nearly vibrating in excitement, especially with the knowledge that Alfred didn’t know of his completely, unhealthy popcorn.

Alfred isn’t paying them much attention though. The old man is deeply concentrated. He hasn’t had enough of himself to even spare himself and Dick a greeting. It’s understandable but worrying. Dick babbles on about how he’s so sure that this movie night would cheer Damian up, and Clark nods and hums in all the right places while listening in on the comms with half an ear. With his superhearing, Clark soon knows the reason for Alfred’s distress.

Damian’s been injured. Dislocated shoulder and a nasty concussion.

Clark’s heart aches for the excited kid beside him. He doesn’t know how to break the news to Dick. There can't be a movie night if the lights would upset Damian’s head, and the popcorn would be to harsh on Damian’s sensitive stomach. Their plans would have to be postponed, or more realistically canceled.

Clark is soon reminded that Dick is sharper than he gives him credit for. The boy deduces that there’s a problem and narrows it down only a few minutes after Clark had.

“It’s Damian, isn’t it?” Dick asks, voice soft and twined with something dark and sharp. It’s a tone that doesn’t fit his usual exuberant nature.

“I’m sorry, Dick. I don’t think we can have the movie night anymore,” Clark apologizes, reaching to comfort the boy.

Dick flinches away, slipping off the cot to stand at attention. He puffs out his chest and does the strangely cute pouty face that’s supposed to make Clark take him seriously, but just makes the man feel an overwhelming wave of pity. Children should never have to put on brave faces. But, children should also have mothers and fathers and a family to count on. None of the Wanye children have those luxuries and Clark has long learned not to expect any of them to succumb to the vulnerabilities of their age.

“Damian is much more important than a movie night, Kal-El,” Dick scolds. “He’s still very emotional and I _do_ think he needs to rest.” Dick stops, ponders for a bit, very serious and very tense. Then, “Can I ask you a favour, please?”

This is how Clark finds himself back in the theatre, dequeuing the movies. He leaves the blankets and pillows and sets the chairs back to form a large, comfy bed. It’s more of a fort and it’s soft and warm. Dick and Damian would be safe sleeping there for the night.

Dick remains in the Cave, hanging at Alfred’s elbow. His eyes track any and all movement on the monitors and Alfred’s too busy to shoo him away. Soon, he’s falling back into old habits. He fetches the flash drive Alfred needs before he’s asked, he picks up any pages that are accidentally brushed off the counter and most importantly, he keeps track of Alfred’s personal needs. When the man’s voice begins cracking, he offers him some water; when Alfred’s hands grow shaky and sweaty, Dick is there with napkins and affirmations. They’re the jobs that Bruce had allowed him to do, and while he’d felt a different, more meaningful sense of fulfillment, he still appreciates that he can do something to make Alfred’s job a little bit easier.

When Damian is finally brought in, his cowl is off and he’s leaning heavily on Tim. Jason stalks in behind them, muscles coiled and face frowny. Dick avoids him, rushing to skirt around Tim and Damian.

“What are you doing down here?” Tim snaps, voice softening when Dick jumps and recoils. He takes in Dick’s wide, worries eyes and his incessant fidgeting.

“Sorr—”

“He’s fine. He won’t get in the way. Is that correct, Master Dick?” Alfred says while he fusses over Damian’s head.

Dick nods, squeaking out a tiny agreement. He hides it well, but he’s preening inside. This Alfred – the one who seemingly had no doubt in his abilities to care for an injured Batman – is much more familiar than the cold, stern one who shows up more often these days.

 He keeps his word as Damian is led over to the cot. As Tim and Alfred tend to the nasty, sluggishly bleeding gash at the side of Damian’s head, Dick undoes his gauntlets and boots. Damian’s suit has more layers than Bruce had had, but it’s fairly easy for Dick to figure out how to remove it. He gets the cape and hood off, leaving Damian in the Kevlar bodice and tights. He does everything Alfred tells him, passing bandages and holding Damian’s hand when Alfred stitches the wound.

Once Alfred is finished with the medicine part of Damian’s treatment, the man knows to step back and let Dick take charge.

“Master Dick, I trust that you know how to take care of Master Damian from here?”

Tim can barely hide his amusement at Dick launches into a clearly routines post-concussion routine. Together, Dick and Tim get Damian stripped to his shorts and vest. Dick takes the lead, wiping Damian’s skin down gently with a warm washcloth. Damian is hazy and quiet, but Dick excuses him. He guides Damian’s heavy limbs into a pair of cotton pajamas. Clark shows up then, taking the two off somewhere. Over Dick’s head, he shares a look with Tim that assures him that at least one adult would be monitoring Damian’s concussion.

Clark helps Dick get Damian settled in the pillow-nest he’d requested and settles at the far edge of the room to observe. Dick constantly checks that Damian is awake and for the next hour and a half, keeps Damian entertained with stories and short, easy games. He’s constantly pressed against Damian’s side, a physical reassurance that the danger is over, and that Damian is safe.

Once the safety window has passed, Dick tucks Damian into the blankets and curls up at his side. Clark watches as the brothers fall asleep, clutching each other tightly. In the dark, memories wash over, and he sees Dick in this same position, nestled against an injured Bruce. Present and past flicker in Clark’s mind he finds that they’re not so different after all.


	2. two

It’s a full week until Alfred allows Damian to suit up again. During that time, Dick had been stuck to Damian’s side like a limb he’d never known he’d had. Previously, Dick was hesitant about instigating more intimate forms of physical contact. Now though, he wasn’t settling for hand holding and one-handed hugs. He was climbing into Damian’s lap, following him around and handing onto his ever word. Hell, Damian had had to stop Dick from following him into the bathroom once.

While he appreciated Dick’s worry for him, Damian was relieved to finally be back out on patrol. he hoped that seeing him back on his feet would ease Dick’s anxiety a bit.

“Is Clark here yet?” Damian asks as he tightens his gauntlets. “He’s supposed to be watching Dick tonight, correct?”

Jason’s off with his rag-tag team of overgrown teenagers doing God knows what, so it’s just Damian, Tim, and Alfred in the Cave. Alfred’s still sending him disapproving looks, even as he helps Damian properly into his suit. The man clearly doesn’t want him going back out so soon, but Damian swears that he’ll go insane from boredom if they keep him locked up much longer.

Because it’s Tim who says, “I’m sure he’ll be here soon,” Damian knows that something’s wrong. Tim may be a liar and a fool, but he’s always been unable to separate his care for Dick Grayson from his job. His voice gives it away and Damian’s eyebrows immediately furrow.

“What? Is there something wrong?” Damian asks, barely keeping the panic from slipping into his words.

“It’s nothing – just,” Tim shakes his head, mutters under his breath for a few, annoying moments. “I just feel like. Clark and Dick are planning something. They’re spending too much time together. It’s our fault really.”

“What? What are they doing?” Damian snaps, patience spent.

“I’m ready!” Dick’s soft, high pitched voice cuts through the cave.

He’s at the top of the stars, hand on his hips and face split in a grin. It’s a performer’s smile – bright and classy and full of feigned confidence. He’s wearing something that looks like a blue, sparkly, gymnastics leotard and Damian would be confused about his attire if it weren’t for the yellow cloth handing limp from his shoulders. Clark – the fool that he is – stands behind him looks guilty.

“What is the meaning of this?” Damian demands. He can't control the anger that comes out. Worse, he doesn’t feel guilty that Dick’s face falls and the boy flinches a bit. All Damian feels is an overwhelming wave of dread and horror and helplessness.

“Don’t yell at him,” Clark tries to pretend to be a reasonable, responsible adult. Damian promptly shuts him down.

Sighing and pinching at his nose, Damian grits out, “Tim, you should leave. Go without me. Alfred, please notify Oracle that I won’t be able to patrol tonight.”

Dick’s growing paler but not even the scared look on his face makes Damian feel any remorse. He beckons Dick down the stairs, chest growing tight as Dick is slow and hesitant in his approach. Clark, the coward, flees back into the manor and Damian would bet his inheritance that the man was halfway to Metropolis by the time Dick works up the nerve to stand before him.

“Dick, explain to me what you think you’re doing,” Damian presses out, words heavy with anger.

Dick can’t meet his eyes when he whispers out, “Robin. I’m Robin.”

The dark, burning feeling in his chest climbs higher in Damian’s chest. “You can’t be Robin. I forbid it!”

Dick puffs up, chest pushing out and cheeks filling indignantly with air. His face turns pink and he’s practically screaming when he says, “Robin is mine. Bruce gave me permission and only Bruce can take it away. I’m Robin, whether you like it or not!”

Damian is set to yell right back when Alfred clears his throat.

“Master Dick, please go wait upstairs. Master Damian will change out of his suit and meet you soon,” he says.

Dick rushes away, shoulders quivering with repressed tears. Once he’s out of hearing range, Alfred fixes Damian a stern, warning look. This is a test. If Damian fails to resolve this, Alfred would step in. Possible take Dick away from him.

“Alright! I’ll handle it.”

“Please refrain from yelling. At this age, I remember Master Dick was especially sensitive to it.”

“At this age, Dick is sensitive to everything,” Damian grumbles lowly as he strips and changes into his night clothes. Dick is nearing his ninth birthday and is much smaller and skinnier than Damian had imagined. It seemed a strong wind would topple the boy. It didn’t matter how much gymnastics training the boy had from his circus days, Gotham would destroy him within his first night out.

Damian rubs at his chest as he seeks Dick out, the horrid, coil of burning emotions whirling inside him still. It grows nastier when he finds Dick curled up on the couch, cuddling with a throw cushion and wiping his tears with his ‘cape’.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” Damian says before approaching. “I’ll try not to do it anymore, okay?”

Dick jumps, sniffing a loud, wet breath before nodding. When he calms a bit, Damian sits beside him. For the first time since Dick had first come to them, the boy hesitates to move closer.

It’s his fault for this whole mess. Dick’s being foolish, but he was a child. It was to be expected. Damian, however, had lost his composure and had reacted in such a way as to scare the boy. His behavior, no matter how justified, was unacceptable.

Making the first move, Damian pats the space right beside his thigh and says, “I’m sorry, really. I am. Would you like a hug? Will that make you feel better?”

Between one second and the next, Damian finds himself with a lapful of a sobbing child. Dick’s tears stream hot and plentiful and Damian indulges him by rubbing his back and petting his hair.

“I’m sorry I yelled I was just—”

Dick cuts him off with a snivel and chokes out, “Scared.”

Damian had been thinking more along the lines of furious and surprised. Scares fits the bill more accurately.

Dick scrubs at his wet eyes and when his hands fall, the whites of his eyes are red. “I can't let you be Batman without me.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Damian tries. There’s no way he’s letting Dick out on patrol – that would be like sighing his death certificate. Damian can admit to his ego, but even he isn’t proud enough to think that he could keep Dick alive as Robin.

“You don’t understand,” Dick shakes his head. Tears crop up again as he presses his tiny hand against his tiny, heaving chest. “It _hurts_ in here. All the time. I want it to stop, but it won’t.”

Damian’s heart cracks and he grips tightly to Dick’s skinny hips.

Dick’s erratic breath slows his words as he confesses, “I miss my Daj and Dat. I miss _Bruce_. I feel it all the time. It never stops. Please, Damian. I can’t miss you too. If you leave me – I think. I think it would hurt so much that I’d die.”

Damian gasps and pulls Dick against his chest. “Don’t say that. Please, Dick. I understand. I’m sorry that you can't have your mother and your father. I’m sorry that you can’t have Bruce. But I promise that I’ll do everything in my power to always be there for you. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

His shirt grows wet and Damian can feel Dick shaking in his arms. He considers that they should get Dick into children’s therapy. No child should have to deal with processing such emotions alone and admitting his emotions has never been one of Damian’s strong points.

The brothers sit together for a few minutes, the quiet only broken by Dick’s hiccupping breaths.

Then, very softly, Dick says, “My Daj, she always wanted us to leave the circus. She wanted me to have a bedroom and go to school and get a proper education. I never wanted to leave though, neither did my Dat. He’d teach me to read and write and we’d show Daj that I didn’t need a school. Whenever she got sad that she couldn’t give me all those other things, I’d do tricks for her and she’d cheer up. She’d say _look at my little chiriclo_ , _my little Robin_.”

“Your mother?” Damian swallows, hard.

“She’d say _how could I ever put you in a cage my Robin?_ She loved me, no matter what. I miss her. I need to do this. Please, Damian. Let me be Robin. I just have to be. Please.”

Damian hadn’t known. The real, older version of Dick Grayson had never told him the origin of Robin. It feels wrong, knowing that he’d paraded around in Dick’s mother’s colours, never knowing the full truth. It feels sinful to deny Dick’s request. How could he look a grieving child in the eye and refuse him a way to reconcile his grief?

He holds Dick tightly, regretting his words as they slip past his lips, yet having no other choice but to agree. “Okay. That’s fair. Once I’m Batman, you can be Robin. But not right away, okay? We need to work out some things first.”

Dick nods against his chest, hands gripping tightly to Damian’s chest. “Thank you.”

A moment of silence washes over them before Dick, voice sleepy and tired, mumbles, “I love you, Dami.”

Damian rakes his fingers gently through Dick’s hair, says, “I love you too, Grayson,” before he feels Dick’s body slacken with sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In romani:  
> daj means mother  
> dat means father  
> chiriclo means bird


End file.
